


Discoveries

by The_Sherlocked_Shadow



Series: Accidental Reactions [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Desperation, Gen, Orgasm, Sherlock discovers new things about himself, Urination, Watersports, Wetting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 08:52:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Sherlocked_Shadow/pseuds/The_Sherlocked_Shadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trapped, locked up in a dingy room in who-knows-where, and all Sherlock can think about is that John is squirming an awful lot.</p><p>Can be read as Part Two in the Accidental Reactions series or completely on its own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discoveries

This was an unexpected turn to an otherwise simple-sounding case.

Sherlock sighed, pacing the length of the room. They had been locked in. Sure, he and John weren't tied up, but the door locked from the outside. There was no lock to pick. There were no windows to break. They were, in all essential terms, trapped.

"Well, this is tedious," he muttered.

"Tell me about it," John griped. "You still have no reception on your phone?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Nor on yours."

They had come here, expecting to find their suspect half dead due to blood loss from an earlier fight. They hadn't expected to be jumped and knocked out. Sherlock was as unprepared as any idiot and he didn't even have his revolver on him.

He felt stupid now.

John sighed heavily, leaning against the wall. "What now?"

Sherlock shrugged uselessly. "I guess we'll wait until we get a signal."

"That could be ages, Sherlock."

"Oh, Lestrade and Mycroft will notice that something's wrong after awhile. Mycroft has a GPS tracking device on both of our phones. If we don't resurface, he'll send Lestrade to find us."

John didn't look impressed. "That could still be ages."

"Well, I can't help it. I realize my mistake," he muttered dryly, "now that I'm trapped and unable to do anything."

"Of course," John muttered.

Sherlock, more annoyed than he would really let on, sank into a sitting position. He'd been over the room three times now, as though he was expecting to find something that he had missed the first time. He really _was_ annoyed; he wouldn't have glanced about the room more than once if his mind hadn't been agitated.

It was half an hour later that Sherlock noted that something was... going on.

John was squirming.

Sherlock's mind immediately jumped back to the accident that he himself had had two months prior in their kitchen, when he hadn't been able to move away from an experiment before he'd lost control of his bladder.

He wondered, afterwards, why that was his first thought. Or why there was an inkling of something pooling low into his stomach as he watched John shift his weight again.

Over the past hour, John had been pacing. Of course, this was natural. John was worried. Maybe even marginally panicked about the thought of being trapped who knew where with no signal on their phones, no idea if their attackers were going to come back. But now, John was doing less pacing and more _actual_ squirming, leaning against the wall, sitting down, stretching his legs out, crossing his legs...

Sherlock let his eyes linger on his distraught flatmate for a moment longer before he looked glumly back to his mobile. There was still no signal.

Fifteen minutes passed.

Sherlock glanced up as John shifted again. He wasn't looking at Sherlock- in fact, his eyes were closed. He was worrying his lip between his teeth and shifting his weight, probably unconsciously, as he drummed his fingers against his thighs. He looked like he was in pain and Sherlock's eyes unconsciously looked to John's crotch for a half second before he caught himself.

What was he doing? Waiting to see if John's jeans were going to start glistening as John lost control of the most basic need?

Oh, there was definitely something there with that idea. The warmth that had settled into his stomach, Sherlock realized, was arousal- a feeling that he was not used to experiencing. Sherlock was curious now.

"There are perfectly accessible walls surrounding us on all four sides, John," Sherlock said evenly, looking at John again.

"Huh?"

The little breathless word that came from John's mouth made Sherlock swallow. He didn't know why that was so arousing to him. He didn't care for his flatmate, not romantically, because Sherlock didn't care for _anyone_ romantically. No matter what people said, he was asexual and John was straight, but... watching him squirm, sweat beading up along his hairline... well, there was something in that.

"The likelihood that anyone will be here in the next fifteen minutes is very slight, John."

John licked his lips and opened his eyes, looking pained at he met Sherlock's inquisitive gaze. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because it's ridiculously obvious that you're about to piss yourself?" Sherlock asked innocently, tilting his head.

John squirmed, his hand inching towards his crotch. "I can wait."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows, but didn't comment. He didn't think John would be able to last for fifteen minutes, let alone however long it took Lestrade to find them. Even then, the thought of moving from here to the bathroom downstairs seemed impossible.

Sherlock didn't say a word, but kept the deduction to himself.

He was watching the second pass on his mobile, therefore he knew it was six minutes and fifty-eight seconds later that John groaned.

The noise shot straight to Sherlock's groin and he shifted uncomfortably as his trousers were becoming too tight.

"John-"

"Sherlock, look, I know what you're going to say, but just... let me deal with it," John muttered, sounding embarrassed.

"Well, I can't do anything about it," Sherlock retorted. "All I'm saying is that you're going to piss yourself if you don't let yourself go and, like you told me once, pushing yourself to these limits is not healthy."

"I'm not doing _this_ on purpose," John said. "I can't _help_ it."

"Yes, you could," Sherlock said boldly, letting the words hit the air before he could back down. "You could get over your inhibitions and piss on the wall before you piss your trousers."

John sighed impatiently. "I know I could, Sherlock, but I... I'm not sure I _can_."

"And why not?" Sherlock asked just as impatiently.

"Because," John said stubbornly, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stood.

Sherlock was quiet as he watched John pace.

He could see John struggling with his need and his thoughts. This was personal. Close. Intimate. Sherlock had done it once, but pissing yourself wasn't something that you just did without thinking. It was embarrassing. Humiliating.

Sherlock had no doubt that John would eventually un-zip his trousers and let go when he reached the point of soaking his trousers. Why wouldn't he? It would be a lot more comfortable that way, albeit a bit awkward with Sherlock watching-

 _Oh_. Was that it? That made sense... It was dead silent in the room, asides from their pacing and their breathing, and Sherlock was _always_ watching. It wasn't like he hadn't seen John pissing before- far too many pints, too long of cases, John needing the loo during Sherlock's bath- but this was different.

" _Fuck_." John squirmed more, pressing his head back against the wall. "'ve really got to piss," he muttered.

"Obviously," Sherlock said. "Just go. I'll... turn around," he said pathetically.

John didn't get the chance to respond. He suddenly tensed, closing his eyes tightly.

Sherlock re-focussed his attention interestedly, finding this much more intriguing than he knew he should.

John didn't move, but his cheeks were stained with pale red and his breathing had picked up.

Sherlock was sure that he had just lost control. He was sure that he was _at least_ damp now.

"John?"

John opened his eyes painfully, looking at Sherlock. "Turn around. Please," he whispered, already fumbling with the zip of his trousers. His hands were shaking uncontrollably.

His own penis twitching, for different reasons altogether, Sherlock spun on his heel and strode away from John. Best to give him the best amount of privacy that he could, even though he was going to be infringing upon John's security without meaning to.

John's intake of breath nearly made him look back, but then the splattering sound of a steady stream hitting the concrete nearly sent his cock ripping through his trousers. John's groan of relief muffled Sherlock's aroused exhale. Chancing a glance over his shoulder, Sherlock was in the perfect position to see the torrent of piss spraying against the wall.

With a shudder, Sherlock turned his attention back to the wall in front of him, shoving his hand into his pocket. He gave himself a harsh squeeze, almost drawing forth a whimper from his own lips. He clamped his teeth together, stilled his hand, and tried to focus on anything except John's urine hitting the wall.

There _was_ nothing else.

It all consuming, a noise-producing fire that was tearing through Sherlock's body. He imagined how John's bladder must have looked, distended to its full capacity, how sensitive it must have been, the level of urgency pressing down John's cock, the warmth tickling the tip. He wondered how damp his boxers were, if any of the warmth had trickled down his thighs-

Sherlock gasped, reaching forward to brace himself against the wall as he came in his pants.

Trembling horribly, listening to John's stream trickle off, Sherlock frantically drew his coat closer around himself, straightening. His face was hot and his breathing was heavy and he tried desperately to take deep breaths to right himself.

John couldn't know. John wouldn't want to know. John would be disgusted. He would be angry. Sherlock could not let John know.

"Better...?" Sherlock managed thinly, not looking towards John.

John's voice was shy and shaky but intensely relieved. "Yes... Yes," John said again, clearing his throat, "much better."

Sherlock nodded slightly. "Good." He strode again to the door to inspect it for the umpteenth time.

He did have a pissing kink, after all.

Interesting.

The experiments had to begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing watersports is an addiction, I believe. One fic and then the ideas keep coming. It's like a never-ending flood.
> 
> I have other ideas, so, yes, there will be more. Mostly in which Sherlock experiments. And, oh, how he experiments.


End file.
